


The Virtues of Learning

by unablearethelovedto_die



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22630141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unablearethelovedto_die/pseuds/unablearethelovedto_die
Summary: Ron and Hermione take matters into their own hands when married life becomes a little dull.  What can learning something new teach them about themselves and each other?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29





	1. Strength

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a Tumblr fest that unfortunately didn't happen. The theme was The Deadly Sins and The Virtues and I chose the virtues. It has been sitting on my computer for months friendless and alone so it's time it got some light. I hope you like it.

The idea, Hermione had said, was that doing new things would stimulate their brains, making them better people and parents. It would open them up to experiences they might never get to have otherwise. What she didn't say, and the hope that lay between them unspoken, was that it might have a positive impact on their relationship with each other.

Neither of them had vocalised it but there had been a subtle, lingering sense for a while now that things between them had become somewhat stale, a little…unexciting. Both had felt it at one time or another and both had done their best to cast such notions aside. Because they were happy, they were lucky and they were alive.

That last realisation had been the rationale at the forefront of both Hermione and Ron's minds when they chose not to address the situation. There had been a time, when they were no more than children and really had no business having such a fear, that living to middle age was in serious doubt. It was quite possible that it would not be a gift they would ever enjoy. So, to be alive and to be married and have babies with your best friend, well, it seemed churlish not to feel completely grateful.

Still, when Ron rattled the local paper one Sunday morning, casting out all the supplements and Hermione spotted the flyer, it seemed like an opportunity for _something._ Ron liked to buy both a wizarding and a Muggle newspaper, a little affectation he had picked up from Arthur. The leaflet swooped into her view and she read it as she bit into toast.

'LEARN NEW SKILLS!' it screamed 'SURPRISE YOUSELF!' She read it through twice. A five-week course at the nearest Muggle technical college, each Saturday afternoon a new experience.

"Have you ever butchered a pig?"

Ron's mug stopped mid-air on the way to his mouth. "I'm not sure where this is heading but I don't like it."

"What about bees," Hermione continued, "Do you know anything about bees?"

Ron set the mug onto the table next to his plate. "What are you up to? Has the Ministry got you doing something dodgy? Are you performing ritual sacrifices now?"

Hermione snorted, her gaze drawn to the leaflet again. "I promise you'll be the first to know." She opened her mouth to speak again and then stopped herself. She looked at her husband in the early morning light as it shone through his hair and fired it flaming red. He still looked like Ron Weasley first love, the only man she had ever wanted to stay with and raise children with. As he looked at her with eyes as blue as they were the very first day they met, wasn't he just the adult version of the boy on the train with dirt on his nose?

Lately though, she had sort of forgotten that. It was time, she supposed, that made her forget. Like swirling water through paint, feelings and memories get diluted over the years and if you don't try very hard to protect them, they can become pale, washed out versions of themselves. She supposed it could happen to people too.

There was no denying how much Hermione loved Ron, nor how much he loved her. What was needed was a reminder that they were more than just parents, more than just workaholics. They needed a new lens through which to view each other, so they might see their colours bright and bold again.

~

Ron reached for Hermione's hand as they walked through the double front door of the college, knowing his palm would be sweaty in hers but unable to stop the nerves. When Hermione had suggested they take this series of classes he had been mildly taken aback. Engaging in workshops with Muggles seemed like an odd thing for them to do, despite the fact that they lived in Muggle area and their children attended the local primary school. Both he and Hermione had felt Rose and Hugo would benefit from mixing freely with Muggles and that it would round out their education before Hogwart's.

So, socialising with Muggles wasn’t the issue. It was just that they didn't do anything like this, they weren't one of those couples. They both had demanding jobs, ageing parents and kids that always seemed to need something. Their adult life existed on the fringes of this, the odd night out alone together punctuating months of eating dinner on the sofa talking about their day.

It wasn't bad- hadn't they earned a quiet life? - but sometimes it felt dangerous, as though it was slightly negligent. Like if you weren’t always looking at it out of the corner of your eye it might slip and become something else. He agreed to go with her because he sensed this feeling creeping up on him occasionally and he correctly assumed that Hermione suggesting these classes meant that she did too.

Possibly though, he should have read the leaflet more closely. He pulled surreptitiously at the grey cotton around his crotch.

"Stop doing that! People will think you have some sort of disease."

"You might have said we needed sportswear," he grumbled in response, getting in another sneaky scratch.

Hermione slapped his arm. "The flyer has been on the notice board for weeks _Ronald_ "- ooh that ‘Ronald’ had been harsh- "Besides, how was I to know you didn't have sweatpants?"

He shot her a glance as he held a door open for her. "Seriously, when have you ever seen me don anything vaguely athletic?"

"You used to run when you were in Auror training," she replied, her voice low in case there were any curious Muggles close by.

"I haven't been in Auror training for quite some time." Ron eyed Hermione's perfectly co-ordinated gym leggings and tank top, which she wore when she had the time to go for a run. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her go out running for ages, not since she took on even more responsibility at the Ministry. He hadn't realised how much he missed her coming in sweaty and vibrant, little kiss curls clamped to her forehead and neck, prattling about things she had seen, drinking long glasses of water from the tap. Now that was Hermione at her most attractive- no makeup, flushed and worked up, hair a bit wild. She used to run most frequently on Saturday mornings when the kids had been shuttled off to various activities or grandparents, so often when she returned it was just him, alone in the house.

As they walked up a corridor following the signs to the gym, Ron felt a smile raise on his lips as he saw himself in his mind's eye lingering in the house, idly washing a mug or pretending to read an old Daily Prophet that hadn't made it to the compost heap. Waiting really, for her to come home. And she would pretend, as she always did, that she didn't know he had been burning time in anticipation of her arrival. She would stretch it out, fanning herself with the ‘Prophet as she gulped down water, telling him some story about a rabid squirrel she had seen in the park.

Then one of three scenarios would usually take place. One: Hermione stripped off her sweaty clothes nonchalantly in front of him in the kitchen before sauntering to the shower where he invariably joined her. Two: he became impatient and would trace a line up her arm as she wittered on, pulling her vest strap off her shoulder and making it very clear he had no intention of listening to any more squirrel anecdotes. Then she would strip off and the showering part of scenario one would occur. Or three, his favourite scenario of all: Hermione finished her water, climbed onto his lap and said, 'Take me'. It was his favourite, partly because it made him feel like a sex god and partly because he enjoyed taking her clothes off himself. There was something really very arousing about peeling off the form fitting Lycra, easing it up by the hem...

"You have a really odd look on your face. Are you alright?" Hermione broke his thought pattern.

"What? Yes!" Ron shook his head a little. Best not to think about any of those scenarios right now, especially when he was wearing sweatpants a size too small.

The gym was vast, with that distinctive rubber and wood smell. Light poured in from high rectangular windows and at one end a tall woman with ash blonde hair was chatting to another woman in tight white clothing. Long loops of navy-blue silk were suspended from the ceiling and hung a foot off the polished wooden floor. People were sitting in little groups around them and Hermione pulled Ron with her to a free spot. A few more people filtered in before the blonde woman started to speak.

"Hi everyone and welcome to the class. My name is Antoinette and I am the course organiser. For the next five weeks we will be hosting people who are experts in their particular field, the idea being that every week you will learn about something you may have very little previous knowledge of. More importantly, I hope the classes will teach you something new about yourselves and each other, if you have come with a partner."

She indicated the woman standing behind her. "This is Ana and she runs a yoga school. Today she is going to be introducing you to aerial yoga, followed by some relaxation exercises. I will leave you in her capable hands and then I will return at the end of class before you go home. Have fun."

As Antoinette made her exit, Ana stepped forward. "Welcome everyone. Now before we begin has anyone ever tried aerial yoga?" No one spoke. "Great so we're all beginners. Today we are going to go through the fundamental movements, we'll get up there and have a go and hopefully get a bit sweaty and then we'll finish with a nice soothing yoga cool down. But first, we stretch. Step up to a hammock."

Ana led them in a series of gentle twists and stances, using the material to pull and press against. Hermione's body felt stiff and underused, clearly too much time was being spent sitting at her desk in the Ministry. Ron didn't seem to be faring much better- working at the Wheezes clearly wasn't that physically taxing either.

"Now that we are warm, let's begin with the basics," Ana called from the front, "Press the hammock to your hip points, keep it tight and lean over it." Next to her Hermione heard Ron let out a noise somewhere between a splutter and a huff as the breath was forcibly exerted from his body. "Now your feet may lift off the ground, that's fine. Play about with it."

As the class progressed and Ana demonstrated more techniques, it became blatantly obvious that this was not going to be Hermione's thing. Balance had never been her strong point- she had never been fantastic on a broom for example and swinging about upside down felt abnormal. It also didn't help that Ana seemed consider Ron fairly adept.

"Nicely done!" she cried enthusiastically, kneeling next to him. "Good strong posture. Now bend the legs in and tuck the feet around. Good job!"

Covertly, Hermione watched Ron as he copied the moves, leaning back on one hand, pelvis pressing upward. His t shirt fell away as he stretched, revealing a long, pale strip of stomach, lightly freckled. Absurdly, the first thought that materialised in response to this was that it had been a really long time since they had taken a holiday.

They had taken the children to Spain two years previously and it had been so wonderful to be away from work and just be a family for a week. During the day she could lie reading a book that wasn’t some dusty work-related tome while Ron taught Rose and Hugo how to swim, their fat little limbs bashing away in their water wings. At night, with the kids asleep in the bedroom, they sat on the terrace of the villa, carefully examining each other's tan lines and applying a cooling potion to sensitive red skin. One of Hermione's little pleasures had been watching Ron's freckles darken over the week; pale, gingery spots becoming toasted in the sun.

Ana shouted further direction and they got to their feet to practice kicks and crunches with legs wrapped in the fabric and Hermione's attention continued to wander to her husband. Off to one side, a little behind him, she could observe him discreetly. The flex of his arms as he pulled on the hammock, the faint outline of a bicep. The not so faint outline of his arse in those bloody sweatpants as he bent over.

Heat crept up her neck. A different warmth altogether to the slick sweat of exercise. Seeing her husband doing something so physical, the strength of his back and shoulders as they supported his weight, it was quite the view. _Merlin, it’s hot in here._

"I think we have done enough for one afternoon," Ana suddenly announced, Hermione's mind still mapping Ron's body muscle by muscle, "Let's cool down and do some mat based yoga. Grab a yoga mat."

Ron ambled back with two mats and laid his next to Hermione's. Ana's gentle voice guided them through some deep stretches, joints clicking softly around the room, until they reached Savasana.

"Let the body be heavy," Ana whispered, "Let the feet drop, arms by your sides. Relax."

 _This_ , Hermione thought decidedly _, is another thing I will never master. My brain is too busy, I'm already thinking about when I can get up. Is this the end of the class now? When do we...?_ Her stream of thought was brought to an abrupt standstill as she felt warm fingers curl round her hand. Curiously, for just a moment, her mind let up; the sensation, like an anchor, pulling her to a halt and she lay just savouring the feeling of his hand wrapped round hers.

"This all looks very relaxing," came Antoinette's voice from the front of the room and they raised their heads blearily. "I hope you all had a good time with Ana?" A contented murmur arose around the gym. "Great! So next week my good friend Mike is coming to teach us about bee keeping and generally making a home for wildlife in your back garden. Homework this week is to try and keep the physical activity going. Go for a walk after work or during lunch, get off the bus early, take a gym class. Keep the body moving and I will see you next week."

Ron leapt to his feet. "Feeling it are we darling?" he guffawed down at Hermione, offering her a hand as she delicately peeled herself off the floor, reluctantly shaking off the pleasant hum his soft touch had instigated.

"I'm fine thank you Ron," she grumbled, accepting the pull up, "I haven't exercised properly for ages, that's all. I'm out of shape." As she stood Ron snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, kissing her temple.

"I think you're a perfect shape."

It was an old joke but despite feeling drained and hot as hell, Hermione smiled before pushing him playfully away. "Insatiable you are Weasley. Let's get out of here. I'm in desperate need of a shower."

With Ron's arm slung over Hermione's shoulder, they made their way back through the college, acknowledging other class members with a nod.

"You enjoyed it then? The first class?"

"I did surprisingly. I haven't had a proper workout in ages, I think my muscles remembered though. Didn't let myself down too much."

"You didn't let yourself down at all. You were great actually." She eyed him in her peripheral vision, a pleased smile spreading over his face. She should compliment him more often, she thought resolutely. She would never get tired of making him smile.

"In fact," she continued as they pushed through the front door, "I would say best in class." She turned towards him and squinted up into his face, the sunlight blinding her and illuminating him.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ron started doubtfully, tips of ears reddening ever so slightly, "There were people younger than me there."

"Younger but not better." The image of Ron bending over the hammock flashed through her head, igniting the warmth all over again and she reached up with one hand, cupped his jaw and brought his mouth to hers.

He was startled at first but only for as long as it took for his brain to register Hermione was kissing him and then he was kissing her back. It was a distinctly good kiss for a public place- an outside observer would gauge it respectable with only Ron sensing the desire when his wife ran her tongue over his bottom lip and nipped it gently.

When she pulled away, mildly surprised at herself for instigating such a move in full view of the car park Hermione felt a rush of pleasure, Ron smiling down at her, a vaguely woozy look on his face.

"Shall we go home now?" he asked her, voice thick.

"Yes," Hermione replied, a wicked smirk on her face, "Take me."


	2. Kindess

"Honestly this week I'm hoping for something a little less taxing. I couldn't go down stairs for three days after the last class. Isn't yoga meant to be relaxing?" one of their classmates was asking as Antoinette introduced the second class.

"You will find this very relaxing, I assure you Dev," Antoinette laughed. "This is Mike and he works in collaboration with the college running bee keeping courses. Today will just be a taster of that but if it gives any of you the bug, I'm sure Mike will be happy to enroll you in the September course. Enjoy!"

Mike was fairly short and squat, sandy blonde hair sticking out at right angles to his head. "I'm delighted to be here today to give you all a little glimpse of what it's like to keep bees. The college has its own hives and hopefully we can take a look today as the weather is quite still and warm. First of all, let's have a chat about wildlife conservation in general and what we can all do to encourage not only bees, but birds, insects and amphibians into our gardens."

Ron settled back in his chair, preparing for the long haul but mercifully Mike proved to be less of an orator than had been expected, eager as he was to show off the bees. At his behest, the class donned bee suits and gloves before making their way out through the gym's rear entrance to the allotment and hives.

"Hey 'Mione, how do I look?" Ron postured and twisted in his white suit. He was still high from the aftermath of last week's class. When he'd got up on Sunday morning his body was stiff in the delicious way that was less hot, sweaty yoga and more hot, sweaty sex. The afterglow had lasted all week, Fred had to ask him more than once to stop whistling, his mood had been so good.

"Ridiculous," she laughed following him. Last week's class had been a revelation for her too, though she wasn't quite sure why. How had a simple yoga class given them the space to step back and look at each other? More importantly, why had it been so potently arousing?

The feeling of Ron's hand sliding down over her belly after dark that Saturday night floated to the forefront of her mind as she pretended to listen to Mike while he demonstrated the use of the smoker. It had been extraordinary to reconnect with Ron like that again. Sometimes sex was just sex, really. Sometimes it was making love. The night after the workshop the sex had been what Ron called 'screwing'- fast, urgent, utterly exhilarating, made all the more so because Harry had dropped off Rose and Hugo almost immediately after she and Ron had arrived home, so they had been forced to wait all evening. By the time they had got both children to sleep and finally laid hands on each other, taking things slow wasn't an option.

Hermione wasn’t sure how Antoinette would feel about their interpretation of ‘keep the physical activity going’ but this week had certainly been more…energetic than most.

"Let's open up the hive and take a look. It's daytime so most of the bees will be out foraging, I shouldn't need to smoke them too much."

Mike eased off the cover board like a child opening Christmas. Ron felt perhaps he liked bees a little too much.

"Get it as close as you can guys," Mike said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "Just give them room to get in and out. We don't want any angry bees."

He talked through the inner workings of the hive, pointing out the guard bees and how they followed his movements and explaining how to tell if the hive was healthy and the queen was laying.

"Here she is now!" Mike voice reached a hushed peak, "There's the queen! See, I have given her a red dot so I can find her?"

The afternoon rounded off with a tasting of the honey the college's hives were producing.

"Honey is fantastic for so many things!" Ron had definitely been wrong about Mike not being an orator. Clearly he had just been warming up at the start of the class. "It's got antiseptic properties, it can lower your cholesterol and triglycerides... It's even," he paused for effect, "Considered an aphrodisiac!"

Hermione's eyes met Ron's and they shared a secret smile.

"Antoinette! Come and taste the latest batch!"

Antoinette stepped up to the table and smiled fondly at Mike, clearly accustomed to his enthusiasm. "How was today's class? Everyone suitably inspired to go out there and make a home for wildlife?"

Nods around the room.

"These"- she gestured to the tote bag she was carrying- "are wildflower seed bombs. As homework I would like each of you to take one and plant it somewhere so it can grow. Get out into your gardens this week and see what changes you can make."

~

Ron arrived home late on Tuesday evening, painfully aware of the stack of paperwork he had deserted in his office, still to be addressed. The house was cool and silent as he kicked off his shoes, listening for tell-tale sounds of family activity. He padded into the kitchen, bare feet relishing the cold tiles and heard a muffled shriek. The huge picture window over the sink looked out onto their garden, a place Ron rarely gave a lot of thought to, much to his mother's chagrin. Ironically the large lawn and the mature foliage was one of the main attractions when they bought the house, both he and Hermione in implicit agreement that it would perfect for children.

Living in a Muggle neighbourhood meant there could be no magical plants in view and Hermione insisted they didn't use charms or spells in case they attracted the unwanted attention of gnomes. Their neighbours were very liberal generally but Ron wasn't sure how they would feel about marauding little people being tossed over the garden fence of an evening. No, when the notion came on them to garden, they did it the Muggle way. Hermione started off with great intentions but they rarely lasted longer than a few weeks; nonstop activity at the start, obtaining seeds, trowelling compost, diligent watering, followed by a slow tailing off and then inactivity for months. Perhaps Ron daring to ask what had become of her strawberry plants and being rewarded with a stony silence.

He was slightly better in that department, having lived for so long in the Burrow's vast wilderness with a mother who was especially skilled at making things grow. So, the grass would be cut on a fairly regular basis and he would attack anything that he deemed to be on the verge of getting out of control. Generally, they left well alone. There weren't enough hours in the day.

Tonight however, the garden was alive with activity. Hugo was collecting sticks and clumps of unknown material in his arms, transporting them across the lawn to a spot beside the shed where he was laboriously arranging them. Rose had set herself up at the old picnic table that had been there when Hermione and Ron had first moved in and was painting a small wooden box, head bent low, tongue to one side. Hermione was working by the fence at the bottom of the garden, untangling an ancient clematis that thrived despite its neglectful owners and twisting it up a metal obelisk. To his surprise she was wearing the bright red wellies he had bought her two years previously when she had started yet another garden overhaul. They hadn't made it out of the box until now.

Ron watched them for longer than he had intended. Occasionally Hugo would lift a particularly pointy stick and poke Hermione in the back, who would retaliate by chasing him around the garden, growling menacingly, arms aloft. Rose, ever her mother's daughter, would cast them a disapproving glance as they yelled and roared before returning to her paintwork, auburn hair glowing in the thin evening light.

He felt a burst of pride in his chest, as he always did when he had the opportunity to observe his family undetected. The chances were becoming fewer now his children were older, they caught on too easily. And Hermione hated to be watched, shaking him off shyly if he stared at her too long.

As if hearing his thoughts, Hermione glanced up at the window and waved, Hugo tackling her leg. She mimed drinking from a glass and Ron turned to a cupboard and removed a bottle of handmade cordial that had been a gift from Luna when they had last seen her. They had been slightly dubious about drinking it- Luna hadn't been explicit about what it was actually made from- but it was the thought that counted, and it seemed unlikely she would deliberately poison them.

"Daddy look what I'm making," his little daughter squealed, signalling for him to sit and admire the box, now painted green in its entirety.

"I can see that. It's lovely. What is it?" He hated asking because kids tend to hold the belief that parents should innately know what every drawing, model or dough creation was meant to represent, and it could become quite heated if Dad didn't quite understand. On this occasion however, Rose simply beamed at him.

"It's a birdhouse Daddy," she replied patiently, "The bird flies in here to make a nest for its babies." As Rose demonstrated how a bird might enter and exit the box, Ron felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, I could so use that. We've been out here for hours." She took a long swallow from the glass, sighing contentedly before grimacing. "Is this the stuff Luna gave us? Interesting."

"Yeah, it certainly has a flavour all of its own. You got away earlier today?" He kissed her hand and then instantly regretted it, wincing at the grime.

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, we were due to have a long, very complex meeting but it was cancelled so I thought I would come home and get started on our homework. We've been getting dirty, haven't we?"

Hugo had joined them now, his stick project complete. "Daddy, Mummy said we have to be kind to the animals. Come and see."

Lifting his glass, Ron allowed himself to be led around the garden by his son; they admired the loose earth where the seed pods were now half buried, examined Hugo's pile of unidentifiable garden litter 'a home for hedgehogs' and Hugo described each animal they had seen while they worked.

As they returned to the picnic table, he rounded off his long, detailed narration of their tour by wheedling, "Daddy, can we have a bat box?"

"Sure we can. I mean..." feeling Hermione's raised eyebrow before he saw it, "We'll think about it. Let's get tidied up before bed please. Go get the tools and put them in the shed."

Both children occupied, Ron joined Hermione on the picnic bench, the wood creaking uneasily as it took his weight.

"A bat box. Really?"

Ron groaned. "I knew you wouldn't let that go. You heard me, I said we would think about it. Anyway. It's your fault for making us take that course."

Truthfully Hermione had more to say on the bat box idea- a colleague at the Ministry kept them and they were messy and disruptive at best- but a contented calm had settled as garden implements were gathered and stick piles checked for the last time, so she let it slide and enjoyed it, Ron ruffling her hair and occasionally removing clematis.

"I see you finally put the wellies on," he murmured, head resting on top of hers.

"Hmm? Oh yes. Thought it was about time. I've only had them for two years. They're very... red aren't they?"

"Makes sense. You're the queen," he replied into her hair.

"The what?"

"Mike painted the queen red so he could keep track of her didn't he? She got a red dot, you get red wellies. You're the queen of our hive."

Hermione felt herself smile. In a roundabout way, it was one of the nicest things Ron had ever said to her.


	3. Courage

Long high benches had been set up down the middle of the gym floor, bar stools tucked neatly underneath, wine glasses and plates on top. From the back of the hall Antoinette called for everyone to take a seat and then she introduced Clara, a sommelier from London who went on to talk briefly about what her plans were for the afternoon.

"Well I think you will enjoy this class," Antoinette called as she made for the door, "It is usually the most popular!"

Clara was very tall, her voluptuous figure swathed in a red wrap dress, tight, curly black hair pulled back in a matching scarf. She had a fantastic smile, broad and ready to go at a moment's notice. She was exactly the sort of person you would want to drink wine with.

"So, is there anything anyone is particularly looking forward to today?" she asked now.

"Just getting sloshed in the middle of the day with no kids is pretty spectacular," Ron interjected, earning a few laughs, nods and one 'Hell yeah!'

Clara beamed. "Why do you think I became a sommelier? I literally get paid to pick great booze! So, we will start with a wine, go a little into the background and the region before moving on to tasting. With each wine there will be a little something to eat so you can learn to appreciate why certain wines are paired with certain foods."

"How many wines will there be?" came a voice at the other end of the table.

"Eight to ten, depending on how we get on."

Ron whistled low. "Bloody hell, I'm going to have to carry you home Mrs. Weasley. You'll be fit for nothing after that."

Hermione scowled, still half listening to Clara. "I think you'll find I'm much better at drinking than you anticipate. And I'm not the one who falls asleep on the sofa with my mouth open after too much Firewhiskey."

"We'll see." Ron was confident- Hermione rarely drank alcohol which was a shame because she was pretty adorable when she was tipsy.

"Let's jump right in with a Pinot Noir," Clara announced, clapping her hands together, "My colleague Jill is going to get the food ready while we talk a bit about the wine. And do pay attention because at the end there will be a little quiz with a prize."

The class sped by, the three hours spent eating and drinking so much shorter than those listening to talks about wildlife or slinging yourself over silk hammocks. The food was amazing by anyone's standards; mushroom and truffle risotto for the Pinot Noir, garlicky prawns washed down by Chardonnay, honeyed fig desserts accompanied by Moscato d'Asti. There wasn't nearly enough of it. Which was a shame because there was more than enough wine, despite Clara never filling their glasses completely.

Hermione, as predicted, was more than a little merry at the class wrapped up. She hid it well, but Ron could read the signs; rosy apples of her cheeks, bright, liquid eyes, voice just a little louder than normal. All these things in themselves would have been enough to tip him off but when the quiz started, he knew for sure. She didn't even try. There was no aggressive competitiveness, no flash of annoyance when they couldn't find the right answer in time. She actually laughed when they came joint last.

"Come on now drunky, time we took you home." He reached up and helped her down from the stool, a slightly inebriated Cinderella stepping from her carriage.

"Rubbish, I'm not remotely drunk Ronald. It was good fun thought wasn't it? We haven't done anything like this for ages."

He heard the wistfulness in her voice and it bothered him a little. They should do more stuff as a couple, it reminded him of when they were young and they couldn't get enough of each other's company. He thought about it more as they walked home, the early evening light fading gently round them.

Hadn't he been obsessed with her in the beginning? When she kissed him it had set off such a chain of events. And she had kissed him- that was the best part. The girl he'd loved from afar and SHE. KISSED. HIM. Not the other way around and not one of those half, did-they, did-they-not kisses? It was full and real and public and to this day that knowledge still made Ron's heart beat a little faster.

Once she had kissed him though, there was no stopping him; the floodgates opened. He wanted to spend as much time with her as possible and there was a strangeness to that because she was his best friend. She and Harry already took up most of his time. It was different though, once they were a couple. Like he was spending time with her so he could get to know her in a completely different context.

Of course, the escalation of their physical relationship was a factor in this too but just being with her while they did mundane, everyday things was actually his favourite part, and that was just as true now as then. Playing chess with himself while she studied, icing the cake they had baked for Rose's birthday together, eating Sunday lunch at the Burrow surrounded by their family, watching her spoon food into Hugo's mouth. The tiny elements of a life built together were everything really. They just never told each other.

"I loooove this time of year," Hermione was saying, swinging his arm as she held his hand, "The blossom is so beautiful."

"You're always complaining when it blows into the garden. 'We don't even have a blossom tree Ron', he mimicked teasingly.

She frowned as she replied, "Well it's very annoying when it falls off. It's lovely when it's still in the tree."

"It reminds me of fourth year at Hogwart's. Remember that tree near Hagrid's hut? It had all those dark pink flowers on it?"

Hermione's face screwed up in thought. "I don't remember that. Are you sure that was Hogwart's?"

"Of course I'm sure. I dedicated it to memory, that tree. We studied under it one afternoon and you were wearing yellow shorts."

"What?" she wheeled round to look up at him, "Yellow shorts?"

He gazed up at the sky as if deep in thought. "Ah those yellow shorts. You only wore them once, complained the whole day that they were too short and I never saw you in them again. But that one whole afternoon.....hmmm." He sighed fondly.

"Stop that!" She slapped him but with a smile. "Perverted teenaged fantasies about my yellow shorts. I don't even remember them."

"That's 'cos you are crap at remembering stuff like that," Ron replied as they started walking again, "I have much better recall than you do when it comes to us."

"Nonsense."

"It's true."

"Never! I remember loads of things about our relationship."

"Yeeeaahh, but I remember more."

They walked in silence for a few moments and Ron could hear the cogs in Hermione's brain turning. He wasn't sure what the output was going to be, but he knew something was coming. What did come was surprising.

"Let's play Five Things," she piped up suddenly.

"Really? We haven't played that in ages." Five Things had started off as a silly game between the two of them when they were bored. Name five things you'd make me for breakfast, tell me five things we would do when it's raining outside. As they got older, Five Things got raunchier: name five things you'll do to me when I get home, name five places you want to kiss me.

It progressed over time into a way of expressing love or of giving reassurance; name five things you love about our life together, name five aspects of my personality you like. There was no particular time it was played, and both did not have to provide answers. Ron had forgotten about it, it had been so long since either of them had ever asked.

"I know. Give me a topic about our relationship." Here was the combative Hermione he knew and loved. Ron hid a smile as he tried to think of something to ask her. They had played so often in the early years that all the good stuff had been asked. Still....

"Name five times you knew you were in love with me." He glanced at her, mouth already open and ready to 'win' at this. "Five distinct times."

She turned her head slowly towards him, raised as exaggerated eyebrow and faced front again. "Easy."

He smirked. "We'll see. Number one?"

"Do you want them in chronological order or as they come into my head?"

 _Ever the perfectionist_. "As they come is fine."

"And can they be times when I probably was a bit in love with you but I didn't realise or do they have to be clear times when I recognised that yes, I definitely loved you?"

 _Give me strength_. "All of the above is fine."

"Ok, number one. When you helped me with the appeal to save Buckbeak. There was so much going on at the time and I had been trying to it all myself. I was sitting in the library one day looking at a pile of books and just so worried that I was going to let everyone down if I didn't get it right. Then you offered to help me. Do you remember that time we were sitting by the window and we were watching those Ravenclaw students exercising their owls? And you said, 'It's nice to know we are doing something that will help Buckbeak fly again'. Something definitely happened then. In my heart."

She said it so frankly he was a little taken aback. He didn't remember that at all.

"Number two," Hermione carried on without waiting for a response, "The first time we went to Hogsmeade. Nothing specific happened, it was just one of the first times we spent together alone without Harry." She paused, concentrating on the memory. "I had been apprehensive about it because we were such a threesome by then and it was very rare that it was just the two of us. It felt like a mini date. And Hogsmeade was so fun and magical- it just felt really special."

This one Ron did recall, and he had kind of felt the same, although he hadn't really realised at the time. He hadn't been sure why he was a bit nervous about being alone with Hermione in Hogsmeade, but she was right, it had felt like their first date.

"Number threeeee.." she tailed off, thinking hard.

He squeezed her hand. "Struggling already?"

Jutting her chin, she responded icily, "Not at all Ronald Weasley. I'm just collating in my head."

_Whatever that meant._

"Ok, let's go with Professor Slughorn's Christmas party."

"I wasn't there!" he retorted loudly, "Your memory is worse than mine!"

"You're missing the point and you didn't let me finish. Are you going to be quiet?" He nodded warily. "Thank you. Now, I know you weren't there but that was just it. It was the absence of you. I was standing next to Cormac and he was prattling on and I just felt.... lonely. I was running all these scenarios in my head about you and Lavender, about how much of a good time you were having. There was a very clear moment, like an epiphany almost, where I thought 'If only I had the Time-Turner, I would go back to the exact second I told you I wanted you to the come to party and I would tell you why'."

"Why what?"

"Why I wanted you to come with me. I don't know how I would have worded it, but I should have told you I liked you and I should have asked you to come to the party properly. As my date. The humiliation of you saying no, that you didn't fancy me, was worth the risk. Seeing you with Lavender was... difficult."

Ron found himself slightly lost for words. It had been so long ago and yet Hermione was describing emotions like they were present day. That being said, if he focused on remembering how he felt seeing her walk into the Yule Ball on Viktor's arm, the hot jealousy was still accessible. He could manifest it like it was yesterday.

"Harry and Ginny's wedding is number four." Ron started to complain that she wasn't allowed to pick someone else's wedding but he stopped himself. She nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you. Anyway, so you are probably wondering why I chose Harry's wedding instead of ours." _Know-it-all_. "But really our wedding is too obvious a choice. This is a test of my knowledge of the little things, not the big things."

It was amusing at how seriously she was taking this particular round of Five Things, although Ron was vaguely concerned that she might expect him to mark her on content and creative thought at the end and he was still a bit pissed for that.

"It's a very specific moment this one. It was when you and Harry were standing waiting for Ginny to come in. You reached down to fix his buttonhole and Harry said something and you both laughed. It was lovely," she finished dreamily.

"That was rubbish. What did that have to do with you?"

She jolted him with her shoulder, probably a bit harder than she had intended. "Not everything has to be about me." Ron snorted and she pushed him again. "It doesn't! It was just a really sweet moment. I had been thinking about how sad it was that Harry didn't have any biological family at his wedding and then I saw the two of you and I was just so happy he met you all those years ago. That you were such a brilliant friend to him, you're his brother really. It reminded me what a kind person you are, that you would do anything for the people you love. I'm very grateful I got to marry you."

Bloody hell this was unchartered waters; Hermione wasn't usually this vocal about her feelings. Of course, he knew she loved him, that she loved their children- it was obvious in everything she did. However, while he was always telling her he loved her, he adored her, that she was his little bookworm, his wifey, she was less likely to reciprocate.

It didn't bother Ron, that was just Hermione. She was more reserved in her expression of emotion, sometimes he felt she was a bit shy about it. It was all in there, he knew, she just needed a little bit of courage to let it come out. Which was why, when it did come out, he found he got immense pleasure from hearing it.

She carried on without a trace of embarrassment. "Number five. What to pick for number five?" They reached the top of the tree-lined road where they lived, the warmth slowly ebbing out of the day. "It's tough to pick just one."

They continued walking. "You are running out of time Mrs. Weasley. You have from here to the front steps to pick something. Tick tock."

"Argh! Ummmm. Ok. Got one."

"Go on."

"Every morning, 6:45am."

Ron thought about this, wondering if it might be a cheeky comment about seeing his naked arse in bed. Hoping actually.

"You don't have to get up at the same time as me, not anymore now the kids are older. You could sleep in and let me go on to the Ministry but you don't. You get up and you make me tea and it's always waiting for me when I come downstairs. You make it just the way I like it, every single morning and I lift it and kiss you goodbye and I never really acknowledge it because it's such a small thing but I love it. It makes me feel loved every day. It reminds me that the seemingly insignificant things are what holds it all together."

They reached the steps and she turned to him, eyes flicking over his face in anticipation.

"Well? How did I do?"

Ron struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. "You did great."


	4. Honesty

Hermione rolled up her sleeves determinedly. Before them on the table lay the instructions for preparing beef bourguignon. Antoinette had brought them to the domestic science kitchen and set them up in pairs at tables. Matthew, this week's workshop specialist, was a locally-famous chef who owned a pop-up restaurant in central London. His ethos was 'nose to tail' and his recipes were centred around using as much of the animal as possible. Thankfully there were no snouts to be seen on this occasion, the beef brisket gleaming red and matte in the bowl in front of them; today he was teaching them one of his favourite recipes.

"Let's get started," Matthew called from the demonstration table at the front of the room, igniting the gas flames beneath his frying pan. "Season the meat well and let's get it into the pan."

Hermione tossed the meat into her pan, steam and sizzle rising to meet her. "You get started on preparing the mushrooms and onions Ron. I'm going to sear the beef."

Her voice was authoritative and that was a bad sign. It was a bone of contention in their marriage, the ability to cook, but it hadn't come up in quite some time. Hermione stuck to making dishes she knew to be failsafe and he handled the rest.

Truth be told, he was much more intuitive when it came to meal preparation. Molly was undoubtedly a wonderful cook; she was forced to be inventive with so little money and so large a family, but the pies she could whip up, the soups, the cakes, the nutty little biscuits- it was all amazing. And she would have been damned if all her children hadn't been able to make their own dinner or turn out a cake for a birthday party.

All his siblings learned the basics, he and Bill showing particular flair, Molly would say. Ron cooked by sight and taste, exactly as his Mum did; inherently knowing when a dish needed something and what it was it needed. He rarely used magic, enjoying the process of making something from scratch with his hands. To say his skill drove Hermione crazy was an understatement. Ever a follower of rules and procedures, she did not have faith in just winging it and preferred a distinct set of steps to follow, believing this was the only true way to reach the accurate, exact outcome. For some reason though, more often than enough it didn't pan out as expected. It could look amazing and it would be much too sweet, or it might smell appetizing but the consistency was wrong.

In fact, the only occasions she produced something edible were after she had been alone with her wand for some time in the kitchen. Ron never commented on this and she, in turn, let him handle most of the family cooking.

But this. This was a workshop. In public. He could feel the competitive air ramping up as she turned the meat back and forward.

"Onions and mushrooms," she barked again, scanning the room with a gimlet eye to see how the other couples were faring.

"When it's done whack the beef into the casserole pot and get the lardons in to crisp up,” Matthew instructed, the smell of hot bacon now curling through the air from his pan.

"I don't think it's done yet," Hermione murmured apprehensively.

"Give it another minute." Ron tried hard to sound offhand and uninvolved, playing the part of unimportant vegetable chopper. "It'll be fine."

"Garlic next!" came a holler from the front, "Soften it up then get your onions in."

Hermione's hands flew up in panic. "Oh hell, I haven't transferred the beef yet!"

Ron knew it was a bad idea, but he asked anyway. "Do you want me to do it?"

She glowered up at him, struggling to move the chunks of meat into the dish. "No. I want to do this. I can do this.... Now hand me the garlic." A minute passed. "Now we'll put in the onions."

She smiled beatifically as she stirred them in, happy to have caught up with the class.

"Now as you will see from your recipe," Matthew was saying over the crackle of fat and the scrape of metal, "We’re only putting the chopped onions in right now. We’ll keep the button onions aside until a bit later when we'll fry them up in some butter. Makes them really juicy."

They stared down at the pan and then to the empty plate on the table, eyes widening in parallel.

"Get them out!" Hermione hissed, grabbing a spoon and flicking the baby onions, now translucent, back onto the plate. Ron stifled a laugh and he did it expertly. This was no time for laughing.

"I'm sure it will have done them no harm," he whispered, brushing an errant curl from her eyeline.

She ignored him as she transferred the contents of the pan into the casserole dish, sloshing red wine over the top from a jug and adding stock and herbs. "Now we simmer," she responded finally, setting the pot onto the heat.

"We'll get the button onions into some boiling water now and get them soft, so they are ready for frying when the beef is cooked." Matthew set his pot bubbling and began walking round the room, taking note of progress.

Ron watched Hermione pause, staring at the little vegetables. "We probably don't need to do that, you know," he said nonchalantly, "We could leave that bit out and just throw them into the pan at the end."

He watched her think, then saw her catch Matthew's eye. "No, we have to be guided by the recipe. If it says boil, then we boil. Get them into the pot before he sees them."

Ron winced but followed her lead just as the chef approached their table.

"How have you guys been getting on? Having fun?"

"Oh yes, it's be great hasn't it Ron?" Hermione exclaimed in that enthusiastic voice she used when she really wanted to convince someone that everything was marvelous when in fact, it was not. "Such fun to learn a new recipe!"

Matthew blinked in the force of her apparent excitement. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. Do you cook much at home?"

Ron felt her stiffen. "Er... yes a bit. Actually, my husband does a lot of the cooking. I work. A lot," she finished lamely.

Just then, hot water gushed from a saucepan on the other side of the room and Matthew excused himself to help.

"I think they're done," Ron mumbled, poking a disintegrating onion with a spatula.

"Great! Into the bowl!" Oh dear, false brightness. Ron inhaled an audible sigh of relief when Matthew announced that he would be doing a demonstration of several other dishes while their bourguignon cooked.

Hermione sat on the stool in front of the demonstration table, hands folded placidly in her lap, by all intents and purposes listening to Matthew. Ron knew this was not the case. Her left thumb and index finger were worrying discreetly at the web of her right thumb, rolling it back and forward. She was thinking, hard. Every so often she snuck a glance at their casserole dish sitting threateningly in the oven, as if willing it on through the sheer power of thought.

When they were instructed to add the remaining ingredients, she did so solemnly. She bounced on the balls of her feet as Matthew prepared a dessert over the final minutes. When he finally dismissed them, she ran/walked to the oven and pulled the dish out.

Ron sent up a silent prayer as she examined the mixture.

"What do you think?" Hermione glanced up.

He lifted the ladle, stirred it through and then brought it to his mouth.

It was vile and there was no other word for it. Ron thought about surreptitiously pointing his wand at it behind Hermione's back but then she spooned some of it into her mouth and it was too late to rectify anything. She stared doubtfully into the pot.

"Maybe it needs more salt."

The absurdity of the suggestion was too much for Ron and he pressed his lips together, cheeks reddening.

"Don't you laugh Ronald Weasley. Don't. You. Dare."

He held his breath until his eyes bulged and then it bubbled out of him in an outrageous hoot, attracting the rest of the room's attention.

"I don't think salt is going to fix it love," he spluttered, still trying to contain himself.

"Well, what then?" she replied, tone low and dangerous, "If you are such a big expert help me fix it."

Ron lifted the ladle and scooping some up, he leant over and sniffed, tilting his head to the side as if in deep consideration.

"Got it."

"What? Quickly in case he tries to taste it."

"We need to change the container, that is the only thing that is going to make this any better."

"What does that mean?"

"It means darling," Ron's eyes sparkled with amusement, "That we need to put it into the bin."

Hermione was appalled. "The bin? What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's the only thing for it 'Mione. This.... masterpiece belongs in the bin."

She looked crestfallen, shoulders dropped and he instantly felt terrible for being honest.

"Look," he started, pulling her to him, "You can't be good at everything. You are already a fantastic wife, a wonderful mum, an awesome .. er.. _government employee_ and-" casting a glance around to make sure no-one was listening now- "the brightest witch of our age. It would be very, very unfair to other, lesser mortals if you were a great cook too."

He could feel her frowning against him. "But I followed the recipe. To the letter! It should have worked." She looked up at him. "Why didn't it work?"

Truthfully Ron had no idea why it hadn't worked, it just... hadn't. Like so many of Hermione's culinary escapades it was close but not quite there. But there were some lies that were little enough that they didn't count.

"I'm pretty sure those mushrooms were on the verge of being off," he said finally, stirring the mixture again. "Maybe that was it."

"You're only saying that to make me feel better at being an utter kitchen failure."

"Now we'll be having none of that." He curled his finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. "I know for a fact you are wonderful in the kitchen. You make excellent toast for example. You boil the kettle for tea just spectacularly..."

A resigned smile appeared on Hermione's face. "Ok, ok I get it. Leave the cooking to you, is that what you're saying?"

"Only if you want to eat it at the end."

~

Four nights later Hermione pushed through the door, tired feet slightly swollen in impractical shoes. It was the third time this week she had been late home and tonight she was so late that she had missed Rose and Hugo going to bed, a fact that really pissed her off.

The house was dim and quiet, the only sound a muffled clatter in the kitchen. Softly pushing the door open, she revealed Ron standing by the stove stirring something in a giant cast iron pot they inherited from Molly. His shirt was half untucked from his trousers, feet bare, hair curling gently on his collar. Whatever he was doing, it smelled incredible.

"You'd better not be making beef bourguignon," she teased, sidling up next to him. "Trying to show me up."

He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead. "As if I would! Nope it's lamb. Mum gave us all those vegetables last week so I've thrown them in. Plating up now. Busy day?"

Hermione groaned and flopped into a chair next to the table. "Yes. And I missed bedtime. Are they asleep?"

"Sound. They were running around in the garden after dinner so they conked out."

"Damn. I'm a crap mother."

"Bollocks!" Ron responded sharply, ladling casserole from the pot, "Don't say that. You're a crap cook. The Mum thing you have sorted."

She smiled wearily as he set a bowl in front of her. "I try. I hope one day they can appreciate that all this work at the Ministry is so there can be a better life for all of us, for their Wizarding friends and their Muggle friends. That I'm trying to make a difference."

He looked at her fatigued face in the low light, faint curly strands of hair escaping her practical bun, bottom lip dry and chapped from where she had been nipping at it. She was a ball of nervous energy his wife, she never really let up. She had high standards for everyone but the highest were reserved for herself. No amount of work or effort was ever quite enough.

She seemed small, almost fragile in front of him, face worried and drawn and he pulled her onto his knee. She curled into him instinctively, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"'Course they do. They know you are doing great things up in the Ministry. They're proud of you. We all are."

She sighed contentedly. "Thank you. You always know how to make me feel better."

He bumped her on his knee. "Wait 'til you taste the lamb. It'll take 'feeling better' to a whole new level."

She scrambled off him and set herself up at the table, spoon in hand. "Maybe you aren't as good as you think you are Mr. Weasley. Maybe it will be rubbish and I'll have to lie to protect your feelings."

He smirked. "You are such a good wife, thank you for not bruising my fragile male ego."

She blew gently on the casserole and spooned some into her mouth. The warmth of the spices mixed effortlessly with the sweet vegetables, the lamb melting on her tongue.

"Well? Is it any good?"

Hermione looked up at his sweet, expectant face, still desiring her approval despite already knowing the truth.

She couldn't lie.


	5. Sacrifice

Ron scowled over the table at Hermione who glowered back.

"I don't know why we are even having an argument about this. There is literally nothing I can do about the situation." He leant back in the chair, palms flat on the table in front of him

"It's our last class and I really think you could find some way to cover it."

"How can I do that, Hermione you tell me? George and Angelina have had this weekend planned for ages, I'm not going to tell them they can't go because we have to go to our _workshop."_

"Don't say it like that," she bit back.

"Like what?"

"Like it's stupid. You've enjoyed going to the workshops so don't act like you're too good for them now."

She pushed up from her chair and began stalking up and down.

"This is so typical of you Ron. It's been planned for weeks but somehow you don't realise it clashes with our final class?"

Ron scrubbed his face with his hands in frustration. "Don't start...."

"It's true!" she wheeled round to face him, "You mock me with all the organising and strategizing I do but this is the very reason! Why do you think I bought you the wall planner you never use or direct you to the noticeboard constantly? Life is busy and you need to use a system or things get forgotten. People use a system! Well, adults do."

Ron banged the table in exasperation. "Can we please have an argument where you aren't trying to insinuate I'm a child? Can we? Like you're the responsible adult and I'm just running around with my head up my arse?"

Hermione leant over the table and stabbed it with her finger. "Do you think I like it like this? Do you think I enjoy always being the grown up?"

Ron didn't answer, his mouth an angry seam through his face.

"Look," she said, voice softening a little, "I know the workshops have been a commitment. I've had to reorganise a lot to make time for them too. All the work I usually do on Saturdays has had to be squashed into other days. But I made the effort because I thought we could do with the time alone together. We don't get nearly enough time to spend as a couple these days."

"Maybe if you didn't always work on a Saturday that wouldn't be the case." It was a low blow and he knew it but he was mad as hell.

"That's not fair.."

"I think it is. You can reschedule everything for some random workshops but not when it's just our family."

Hermione pulled up sharply, his words hitting her like a slap. They stared at each other for a moment, blue eyes icy, brown eyes flat.

When she finally responded, her voice was low and deadly. "I work hard for all of us. For our future. I don't particularly enjoy working at night or on the weekend, but I make those sacrifices because I love my family and I have a responsibility to the Ministry." She paused, the silence stifling. "If you think I enjoy working while you get to relax and play with the kids all day..."

"Oh, that's lovely, that is," Ron was incredulous, "Is that what you think I do? You're off saving lives with all your legislation and doing all the important shit while I'm at home lying around, having a great old time is that it? You make all the sacrifices Minister Weasley and I reap the benefits."

"I didn't mean it like that..."

"The hell you didn’t. It's called childcare Hermione. It's what one parent does when the other parent isn't here. Perhaps next time you are filling in your wall planner, you could pop your family into a slot?"

He slid his chair back, the legs scraping angrily against the floor and launched himself out of the kitchen, leaving Hermione staring at the space where he'd sat.

~

Hermione had been watching the clock from her desk, head in volume nine of some ancient text about Wizarding bylaws. It ticked monotonously around to the hour, to the time when she and Ron should be starting their final workshop, and then passed it. She released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

The days after their massive row had been difficult; words were enunciated precisely and minimally, the air between them viscous with unspoken opinions. She had been wrong to suggest that Ron was somehow lazy or had the easiest time of it because he took care of their children when she worked. Sometimes she neglected to remember that he too had a demanding job, that everything wasn’t about the Ministry. She was grateful he was hands-on with Hugo and Rose, sometimes she felt he was a much better father than she was a mother.

But saying it when his face was hard and unflinching as they sat across the breakfast table from each other- that was something else entirely.

Abruptly an owl swooped effortlessly through the open window and hopped anxiously on the desk in front of her. She unwrapped and read the message attached to its leg, immediately rose to her feet and ran to the bottom of the stairs.

"Kids! Shoes on and down here now!"

~

Molly Weasley looked tiny in the bed, an odd thing because in life she was so large, her personality effervescent and encompassing. Illness had deflated her. Healers worked studiously at the bedside, mixing liquids in beakers and crushing seeds with a pestle. Arthur sat to one side staring, as he had been since they'd arrived, at his wife's face, as though sending her his strength telepathically.

The entire Weasley family and some of the Prewetts had been camped out for hours at St Mungo's waiting for news following her mysterious collapse but the information they were being drip fed was tenuous. Perhaps she was bleeding somewhere, maybe it was a clot, had she been working in the garden earlier in the day or eaten something unusual? There seemed to be no solid theory for her deterioration.

At midnight and with Molly peaceful in sleep, Hermione took charge and sent everyone else home, promising to send urgent word if anything changed. She spoke to the Healer-in-Charge who set up a bed for Arthur in the next room. Ron guided his father, now slower than Hermione remembered him being, to the bed and helped him remove his jacket while she watched, heart sore.

The Healer set two cups of tea in front of Hermione and smiled sympathetically before walking back up the corridor, dimming the lights as she went. Ron softly shut the door behind him and eased himself into the chair next to his wife.

"I didn't think to ask. Where are the kids?" Ron's voice was thick was exhaustion.

"My mum and dad have them. They can stay for as long as necessary. Did the Healer say anything else?"

"Still waiting for the results of some of the tests. They thought she maybe got bitten by something but they couldn't find anything so they're looking at other stuff... I dunno. I can't remember."

He smiled wearily at her and she took his hand, cradling it in her lap. They sat for long moments in the dim light listening to the minute noises of a hospital at night.

"Puts it all into perspective doesn't it?" Hermione turned her head towards Ron as he spoke. "You fuss and fight about tiny things that you think matter and then something that really does matter happens and you realise how stupid you've been."

His words cast up their argument like an obscene neon in her mind and she felt the pull of shame in her stomach.

"Yes. You don't appreciate it how lucky you are." Ron opened his mouth to speak and then paused. "What? What were you going to say?"

"I used to feel like I was her least favourite... haunted me for years the thought that I was last in line for Mum's affection. When you're a kid you don't appreciate that your parents can't always get it right. All I saw was second hand wands and hand-me-down robes, I never thought...."

"That they were human?"

"Yeah," he nodded once, "I never thought about that. Or that they were trying. Doing their best. When I think of all the times they had to worry about me. When Dad got into trouble at the Ministry because me and Harry crashed the enchanted car at Hogwart's. Or when we just disappeared to hunt horcruxes. Mum must have been out of her mind."

He was silent for a moment.

"Or even just the little things. Four sets of school books to pay for at one time, six presents at Christmas. All the things they had to give up to make sure we had the stuff we needed. And I mean, they were raising kids during the first Wizarding War, losing family and friends... People literally dying on a daily basis.” He paused. “I don't think about the War much anymore, because it was such a horrible time. Because of what we lost. But when I try to imagine what it would be like to live through it with Rose and Hugo... having to try to protect them... That would be unbearable. I'm not sure I could do it."

Hermione's heart sprung in her chest and she wrapped her arm around Ron's back, pressing her face against his shoulder. "You are a wonderful father Ron Weasley. You could do anything for our children, I don't doubt it for a second. But you're right. We should be more appreciative of the fact that Rose and Hugo are growing up in a safer world."

"Safer because of all your work at the Ministry."

"Safer because of your bravery and strength during the War."

"Safer because of all your brainpower during the War."

"Safer because of yours too." He rested his head onto hers. "I'm sorry we fought."

"Me too."

"I was being irrational."

"I was being mean."

"I shouldn't have called you a child. Or made you feel like you were second best to my job. I’m grateful for everything you do at home- I know how much of your free time it takes up, looking after the kids."

Ron shrugged. “I like doing it…”

“I know,” she interjected, raising her head, “But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a break. When was the last time you played Quidditch with your brothers and Ginny? Or saw Harry without a gaggle of kids and wives? You need your own time too.”

"Ok, but that works both ways Minister. What about you? How about saying no for once when the Ministry asks you to do even more?”

Hermione rolled her head on her neck. “Yes. I’m not good at that.”

“Nope. You aren’t. How about instead of spending every Saturday inhaling dust mites from parchment you went for a run? Or saw your Mum? Or read one of those bloody books you keep buying but never open?”

He looked down at her and smiled. “And I shouldn't have made you feel bad about working hard or wanting us to spend time together. The workshops were fun."

She sighed. "We'll never know how to butcher a pig."

Ron kissed her hair. "I think it's a skill I can live without." He rubbed his eye with a finger and blew out a breath. “So, we agree?”

“On what?”

“We aren’t shit parents.” Hermione nodded. “We aren’t shit spouses.” Another nod. “We’re doing our best and from now on we are going to be better at prioritising ourselves.”

“And each other.”

“Yep. And each other.”

Ron pulled Hermione into his arms and pressed her against him tightly.

Through the cotton of his shirt she could hear the heavy thud of his heart, his skin warm despite the godforsaken hour. Her fingers slid round the angles of his body, now a little softer than they had once been, and she held him there, thankful.

He pushed his nose into the wild softness of her hair, inhaling the wonderfully familiar scent of her shampoo. She was bigger than she used to be and yet she still felt exactly the right size for his embrace. He held her there, thankful.


End file.
